Rock All Night(131)

“Perks of being a rock star, luv.”

“Wow… I thought Derek buying a car was crazy…”

Killian looked momentarily confused. “I didn’t buy it. It’s just the one flight.”

“Ohhhh… okay, well, that’s better.”

“Although, that might be an idea worth considering,” Killian mused, and glanced over at Ryan. “Perhaps a group purchase by the band?”

“No,” Ryan said, never looking up from his laptop screen.

“Why’d you look at Ryan?” I asked.

Killian shrugged. “He handles 75% of the money, doesn’t he? After Miles’s cut, of course.”

Ryan’s, Derek’s, and –

“That’s right – you handle Riley’s, too!” I exclaimed, suddenly remembering her conversation on the phone with her sister.

Ryan sighed. “…yes.”

“Are you sure you’re a rock star and not an accountant?”

He laughed. “Sure feels like it sometimes.”

I turned back to Killian. “Well… enjoy your private ganja tour,” I teased him.

He smiled. “I shall.”

“What about when you get in, though? You can’t exactly walk into Customs with a bunch of marijuana, right?”

“No, that would be frowned upon by the authorities. But I’ve got a bloke standing by with a care package and a private car.”

I laughed again and shook my head. “You’re one of a kind, Killian.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Miles suddenly barged in the room.

“Well, the car’s ready – ah, you,” he said on seeing me. “Seems the thorn’s not out of my paw yet.”

“I missed you too, Miles.”

“Derek says you’re to mooch off his account here for the next several days. Did he set you up with any cash?”

“No,” I said, suddenly embarrassed. I wondered how much my ‘boyfriend’ had told his manager – and the rest of the band.

“Here,” Miles said, whipping out a roll of bills and peeling off 10 hundreds. “That should keep you for a bit.”

“I can’t take that,” I said, aghast.

“Of course you can, it’s that stupid git’s money, not mine,” he barked as he crushed the bills into my palm. Then he turned to Killian. “Alright, you Rastafarian bastard, out to the car with you.”

For the first time in weeks, Killian took both of his hands off his guitar and embraced me. I hugged him back, though it was a little awkward with a Fender Stratocaster in the way.

“You’re a lovely bird, Kaitlyn. I hope I get to see you when I get back.”

Despite the slightly ominous meaning behind his words, I teared up. “Thanks, Killian… me, too.”

He smiled, then went back to playing his guitar with one hand as he waved at Ryan with the other. “Later, mate.”

“See you, Killian,” Ryan called out.

“Tell the Holy Terror I said goodbye, as well.”

(By that I assumed he meant Riley.)

“Will do.”

And then Killian and Miles walked out of the penthouse.





109




I went over and sat down next to Ryan. He set his laptop on the coffee table in front of him and looked at me sympathetically. “You okay?”

I exhaled loudly. “You know, don’t you.”

He nodded. “He stopped by earlier.”

All the feelings of sadness I had successfully stuffed down for the last hour began to well up. I tried to choke them back, but they still came out in a half-sob. “Am I being an idiot?”

“No. No, not at all. He just needs some time.”

I looked at him dubiously.

“He gets like that sometimes,” Ryan assured me. “Yeah, he’s usually Mr. Extroverted, but sometimes he gets really moody and just takes off without telling anybody.”

“He didn’t seem moody when he left.”

“He was probably hiding it pretty well. Or he knew that it was going to hurt you, so he didn’t let it show. He never really cared how I took it, so I always got a full blast. Don’t worry, it’ll be fine.”

I looked at him desperately. “You promise?”

“Yeah. It’s fine. He just needs some time on his own. Like ‘Cold November Rain.’”


I stared at him in confusion.

“…Guns ‘N Roses? …off of Use Your Illusion?” Ryan saw I had no idea what he was talking about. “Well, it was a good allusion. Ha – ‘allusion’… ‘illusion’…”

“You’re such a dork,” I teased him.

“And you’re functionally rock ‘n roll illiterate,” he kidded me back.

“I know all the important songs.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Like yours,” I said in a playfully saccharine voice.

“Awwww… you’re so sweet, I’ll ignore how full of crap you are.”

“I’m not full of crap!” I protested, mock-outraged.

“Okay… just a quarter full, then.”